Why Didn't We Visit?
When I first became hooked on genealogy, I quickly focused on my mother’s side of the family. Mom's grandparents must have been an integral part of the first couple of years of my life. My brother and I about 1947 on East 35th St. near Flatbush Ave. I remember walking from our apartment on Flatbush Avenue to their home on Albany Avenue in Brooklyn, N.Y. It was a perfect summer day, and I was feeling very happy. I was walking with my mother and brother. I remember I was wearing one of my prettier dresses and my perfect, white, Buster Brown shoes. We were passing a neighborhood park with a wrought iron fence. I forgot to watch my steps, and I smelled my mistake. I had stepped in dog poop, and my little white shoes were no longer perfect. I looked up at Mom, and I could tell she was very annoyed. I began to cry. This was not my first misadventure with dog poop. I had been repeatedly cautioned to watch my steps, but I continued to get lost in the world around me ...

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